


Perpetually Boned

by katzenjam



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: A lil bit of oc's i guess??, F/M, Fluff, Polyamory, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader-Insert, Reverse Harem, Troubled past but not really???, a lil bit of angst, i love funny things, i'm terrible with angst so here's a funny thing, not really tho, reader is female, skeleton harem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-06-12 22:17:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15349929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katzenjam/pseuds/katzenjam
Summary: You're free, you're finally free! Those days of living in that hellhole you called an apartment complex are no more.Opportunity shines brightly for you in the outskirts of Ebbot City.Everything is going swimmingly...for now.To patella the truth, your new neighbors are a bit of, heh, numbskulls.Erm...take that as you will.(psst! it's a skeleton harem. you should totally read it.)





	1. Sofa King Done With Y'all

**Author's Note:**

> Your friends help you move in as your neighbors emotionally cave in on each other.

You look once, twice, three times at the house standing before you. Grinning, ecstatic, fresh-faced. The clammy grip on your own fingers tighten.

 

Though it took longer than expected, you finally did it.

 

You bought your dream home.

 

Encouragement came in all sorts of forms for you to leave your previous apartment. Your roommates were, quite frankly, an absolute nightmare to deal with--always stumbling in late and dodging chores like bullets. You juggled two shitty waitressing jobs to make up for late rent payments, thanks to a certain set of _somebodies_. Your body was also taking both mental and physical blows, each becoming more paralyzing than the next.

 

All the while, you feared for your safety. A multitude of break-ins had sprung about your area, ready to close in at a moment’s notice. You couldn’t take it anymore.

 

The house had been on the market for a while, about half a year, and you were always watching out for it. Cheap, homely, and void of any serious damage; it sounded like a steal of a deal. In your few and in between moments of rest, you browsed other retail sites. The fixer-upper was unparalleled. You were absolutely sold.

 

So fuck vacation money, you bought yourself a new goddamn life.

 

...Which brings you to where you are now.

 

“Feels good, don’t it, sunshine?”

 

“Holy shit, yeah,” you exhale, giving into Heidi as she bumps you with her hip. “I love it.”

 

Heidi laughs, and you can’t help but marvel at her. She and Teresa have been there for you through thick and thin. Rain or shine. Whatever other metaphors that depict hardships, they’ve been there. Good ol’ friends from childhood that never bothered to leave, much to your luck.

 

“Look, I get it. Y’all are having a moment.” Teresa, meanwhile, struggles to lift the sofa. “But could you assholes help me? Jesus, Y/n-- this _is_ your fucking house.”

 

Such characters they are.

 

“Okay, okay, princess,” you laugh, rushing over to her aid. “I’ve got the back.”

 

“And I’ve got the rest.” Heidi gives a command count, and the sofa rises with relative ease on the third number. “Easy up, guys. Last piece of furniture right here.”

 

The promise fills you with hope, fingers digging into the framework. “Hell yeah!”

 

Teresa groans. “I second that.”

 

After bypassing the front door-- and stumbling over a few boxes-- you make it to the living room. With a collective grunt, you unceremoniously drop the sofa.

 

“Oof, I’m beat.” Teresa is the first to fall, plopping into the cushions like she just ran a marathon. “Mmm, so soft.”

 

“Scoot your boot, _biatch--_ ” Heidi joins in, crushing a part of Teresa’s thigh with her massive legs-- “Mama’s ready to rest.”

 

You fake a grimace. “Um, ew? I don’t need you flaunting your kinks in my new house, _Heidi_.”

 

She wags a polished nail at you. “Bad vibes, chica. Kinkshaming’s a mortal sin, remember?”

 

“Pfft, in what religion?” Teresa pitches in, stealing the words right from you.

 

“In mine,” Heidi says, sprawling even further across the sofa. “I’ve gotta hand it to ya, sunshine, you’ve got great taste in furniture.”

 

You watch your friends mingle on the couch, smiling. This change in scenery is fun, refreshing even. Around you, floral wallpaper hangs loosely, flitting as the wind gusts through open windows. You have a ways to go when it comes to revamping the home, but that’s the least of your concerns.

 

“Thanks, dude,” you shoot her a set of finger guns. “Are you guys gonna stick around, cause I don’t mind--”

 

“Ah, no, I can’t,” Teresa pats Heidi’s leg, a signal to get up, and Heidi obliges. “It’s my week with the kids. Gotta premake meals. Maybe next time?”

 

Heidi gets up and stretches with a yawn. “Yeah, and I’ve got work at two,” she adds, walking over to wrap us both in a bear-like hug. “Gonna miss you assholes.”

 

“Bitch, we’re leaving. Not dying.”

 

“God, I’d hope not,” you giggle, giving them both an affectionate squeeze.

 

The hug ends and they both head for the door. A large ray of sunshine beams through the door as your friends go their separate ways. “Drive safe,” you yell out. “Both of you.”

 

“Always do, sunshine,” Heidi answers from the car window. “Don’t overwork yourself.”

 

“She means that, bitch!” Teresa warns from her SUV. Her _mom mobile_ , as you so creatively dubbed it. Her tires pick up speed and she out of the neighborhood in an instant. Heidi follows suit, and you’re left with one lone car. Your own.

 

For a moment, you dawdle in the sun, swinging past the open door for some fresh air. Thoughts of today’s events fill your head, and you realize that it’s barely noon. _God_ , you have so much shit to do. Like setting up home appliances and grocery shopping, two of your main priorities.

 

Ugh, you’re so tired. All that stands between you and a quick nap is the door. You could crash on the couch for now. The mattress was too far, anyways.

 

And that’s exactly what you do, venturing back inside to flop on the couch cushions. Your vision grows hazy and just like that, you’re dead to the world.

 

….

 

As you sleep, however, the word of your arrival spreads like wildfire. So much so that a family meeting is put into action.

 

“YOU BLUNDERING IDIOTS! WHY WASN’T I NOTIFIED ANY SOONER?!”

 

“WELL...WE KINDA FIGURED YOU’D FREAK OUT.”

 

“yeah, kinda like what’s happening right now.”

 

“SANS! MANNERS, PLEASE! EDGE HAS EVERY RIGHT TO FEEL UPSET--”

 

**_“I’M NOT UPSET!”_ **

 

“--SEE? YOU’VE UPSET HIM, SANS!”

 

Red looks to Stretch for a reaction. Some sort of wince. Anything. They’ve been backseating this whole shebang since it started. Stretch has to have at least _some_ sort of input.

 

All Stretch does, however, is offer Red a bag of premade popcorn.

 

Red’s tight grin loosens up a fraction. “thanks.” _Asshole_. He takes a greedy fistful, anyways.

 

“no problem,” Stretch replies, chewing nonchalantly. “so...about that human.”

 

“yeah, i know. crazy shit.”

 

“hope she’s not like the last ones.”

 

Red nearly chokes on the popcorn, spewing out a few kernels that Stretch flinches away from with a laugh. Red gives him a hard look, battle hardened for a moment, before he guffaws. His large, bony hand slaps his thigh, recalling his last beloved neighbors. _The incident._

 

“yeah, me too, buddy,” Red wipes away a crimson tear from the corner of his eye socket. “me fuckin’ too.”

 

Blueberry’s skull whips towards his brother, quickly catching wind of their side conversation. He doesn’t like it. _Not one bit_. “WE DON’T SPEAK OF THAT ENCOUNTER, BROTHERS.”

 

Red gives a less-than-consoling shrug. “what? s’all in good fun, baby blue.”

 

Blueberry’s eye sockets knit in frustration. “GOOD FUN?!” He makes a few exasperated hand movements, unable to form anything but garbled nonsense. “SHE--THAT, _THAT COUPLE_ PERFORMED A SEANCE ON BLACKBERRY! _STARS_ , RUS ALMOST...ALMOST--”

 

“ _repossessed_ the house? yeah, sounds about right.”

 

Blueberry jumps-- jumps, for stars sake!-- at the sound of his voice. He whips himself around, colliding face first into a sweatered chest. Rus only grins, dangling a dog treat from his teeth.

 

“quit spookin’ my bro, dude,” Stretch warns with a laugh. “that shit ain’t cool.”

 

“LANGUAGE!”

 

“you’re one ta talk, ya teleportin’ dickweed.”

 

It’s Blackberry’s turn to be appalled. He _thwacks_ Rus’ head with a nearby throw pillow. “CLASSLESS! BOTH OF YOU! AT LEAST THINK OF SOMETHING MORE ELOQUENT.”

 

“like douchenozzle?” Red asks. A _legitimate_ fucking question.

 

Rus snatches a few pieces of popcorn. “fuckburger?”

 

Stretch joins in on his own bashing. “ _boner_ fied loser?”

 

“OKAY, FIRST OFF, LANGUAGE,” Blueberry interrupts with a click of his teeth. “SECOND OFF, _GROSS_. THIRDLY, YOU DO REALIZE YOU’RE INSULTING YOURSELF, RIGHT BROTHER?”

 

“i’m well aware.”

 

“WHAT-- _THEN STOP IT ALREADY!_ ”

 

“why?”

 

Blueberry pulls a face. “B-BECAUSE IT’S POINTLESS, THAT’S WHY!?”

 

“ah, so everyone’s here, huh?” Sans finally muses, his teeth curving into an ironic smile. “welp, time to get things _skeledone_.”

 

“OH, HARDY HAR HAR,” Black’s eyelights roll like heads. “YOUR MATERIAL’S AS DRY AS THIS POPCORN,” he gives Stretch an accusing stare. “YOU AND I BOTH KNOW THAT NEEDS MORE BUTTER.”

 

Stretch gives him a two-fingered salute. “duly noted, captain.”

 

“okay then,” Sans teeters from foot-to-foot. He’d rather not spend a saturday like this. Cooped up in his own home, babysitting a gaggle of his own (and his brother’s) alternative selves. It’s-- no pun intended-- a _houseful_ of trouble. Literally. Edge broke his lamp on his last visit...along with Papyrus’ feelings.

 

Yep, he’s living the dream.

 

“as you all know, we’ve got, uh, a _new_ neighbor,” _Stars_ , he’s bad at this. Why was he in charge again?

 

“uh-huh.”

 

“yep.”

 

“THAT’S ALREADY BEEN ESTABLISHED, SANS.”

 

“oof, okay then,” Sans huffs, ready to dump his spiel. “so here’s the thing. you--” his finger points to Edge. “you,” then to Red. “you,” then Blueberry. “and you two, _especially_ ,” there’s a bit of malice tingeing Sans’ voice as he points towards Blackberry and Rus. “will not interact with the human.”

 

A shocked silence fills the room for a moment, and for the first time in a while, Sans could actually hear himself think.

 

Rus is the first to break the silence, laughing, “ha, yeah right, vanilla.”

 

“i mean it, rus. we can’t afford another lawsuit.”

 

A lot of first times are happening as Blueberry comes to Rus’ defence. “ACTUALLY, IF YOU’D CRUNCH THE NUMBERS, WE COULD.”

 

...It actually throws Sans for a loop.

 

“get ‘em, blue,” Red eggs Blueberry on, watching Sans with calculated mischief. “tell ‘em what for!”

 

Sans’ hands curl into tight fists, balled in the solace of his jacket. _Stars_ , who left him in charge? Seriously?! “yeah, real mature, red.”

 

“what? yer the one confinin’ us like we’re goddamn animals.”

 

Sans says nothing as he gestures to Rus, idly smoking a _dog treat._

 

Red shakes his head. “that doesn’t count.”

 

“you’re wearing a collar, for stars sake--”

 

“fer safety reasons.”

 

“--to keep people away from you. red, stars, you’re one of the many safety hazards in here.”

 

“BROTHER, PLEASE,” Papyrus finally interjects, exasperated at the amount of charged magic in the room. Drama queens, all of them! “WE’VE OBVIOUSLY STEPPED INTO SOME... MORALLY QUESTIONABLE TERRITORY HERE, AND FOR THAT I APOLOGIZE,” he inhales. _Deep breath in, deep breath out._ “B-BUT MY BROTHER HAS A POINT. HORRIBLY WORDED, YES, BUT HIS SUGGESTION IS PLAUSIBLE.”

 

Blueberry seems downtrodden by the idea. “SO WHAT? WE JUST… DON’T TALK TO HER? EVER?”

 

“TCH, FINE BY ME,” Edge turns heel into the kitchen. “I’M GETTING A GLASS OF WATER. DON’T FOLLOW ME.”

 

“ _We won’t_ ,” was a collective, unspoken thought that hovered over the skeletons.

 

Papyrus fiddles with the flaps of his gloves, suddenly finding it difficult to meet Blueberry’s gaze. “BACK TO YOUR CONCERNS, BLUE. CONTACT WITH THE HUMAN... S-SHOULDN’T HAPPEN,” he quickly amends his words with, “AT LEAST, NOT FOR NOW--”

 

“not ever,” Sans corrects.

 

“-- _FOR NOW_ ,” Papyrus insists. “JUST FOR NOW, BLUE.”

 

Sans looks at his brother, surprised, shocked, even a little proud. He pinches his nasal bridge, looking down at his own pink chanclas. Dude can’t even tie a pair of shoes. Why was he the head of operations? _Why. Was. He. In. Charge._

 

“red’s gone,” Rus suddenly admits with such nonchalance. “left a little while ago.”

 

Sans’ skull whips up so fast, he thought he broke the damn vertebrae it sat on. “i’m sorry, **_what?_ ** ”

 

“ya heard me,” Rus peels the window blinds open, and sure enough, Red’s marching his bony coccyx up the walkway. To _your_ house.

 

All Stretch could do was chuckle at the lunacy of it all. “dude, you’re such a snitch.”

 

“I know, _fuckburger,_ i know.”

 

The Tale household empties-- much to Sans’ dismay-- and a gaggle of skeletons head up your driveway.

 

They’re coming for you.


	2. New Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected guests arrive at your door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry. I'm still gonna be an asshole to Sans. He's gonna get the character development whipped right into him. Oops.
> 
> On a completely unrelated topic, thank you guys soooooo much for your support!! I tried doing my best with this chapter, but I'm not so sure about it. Like always, feel free to leave me some feedback in the comments <33 !!!!!!!

**_BANG! BANG! BANG!_ **

 

The door rattles on its hinges, near the brink of bursting open. It’s such a loud disturbance. So loud that it sends you flying off the sofa with a yelp.

 

Graceless.

 

You trip over a box of your own belongings.

 

Half-awake, you thump the ground, followed by a few choice words. _Ouch_. For a moment, you contemplate a second nap on the floor; you weren't exactly done with the last one.

 

“human, let me in.”

 

But alas, that would have to wait. Someone’s at the door.

 

“look, sweetheart, i jus’ wanna talk,” the voice, gruff and throaty, insists. “please--shit!--jus’ let me in.”

 

There’s a certain sense of urgency to his words. Like they’re the last he’ll ever say if you don’t open that damn door. Still, you remain reluctant.

 

“Wait, why?” you manage, scrambling to your feet. The world remains covered in that misty, post-nap haze, much to your dismay. You can only make out the cardboard boxes leading to the door. “What’s going on?”

 

“shit, shit, shit--” the voice begins to panic, banging the door like their life depends on it. “they’re already here!”

 

“ _Who_ , who’s here-- _Jesus!_ ” Great, he’s got you yelling now. Your heart hammers, your guts churn. At this point, you’re not left with many options. “Just calm down, please! I’ll help you!”

 

You lurch forward, crossing a minefield of moving boxes. Clammy handed, you whip the door open, dragging in the first thing your hand touches. The door goes on the fritz, and in the moment, you could’ve sworn you heard other voices. Calling, clamoring.

 

All sounds from the outside world drop to a low whisper as the door shuts with a _click_ . Wait, _how did that even--_

 

“ah, fuck.” A pair of rough hands make a grab for your shoulders, and you stumble back. They’re a solid presence, warm with something that tingles like electricity. _Another step._ A scent of familiarity hits your senses: smoke, pine, carnival vending.

 

An odd combination, indeed.

  


Just as you take another step back, your foot catches on something, taking the both of you down as you cling to him. The ground--oh, that wonderful piece of hard floor tiling-- _wallops_ the air right from your lungs. You hear the box skitter, objects go flying, and a man groans out a chain of expletives.

 

Wowza. You lay stunned, pinned between cold tiles and another body. Pale arms brace themselves along your sides. Two pools of crimson light bore into your eyes. Staring.

 

Are… are those supposed to be _his eyes?_

 

Ho boy.

 

You dare not move, hands still bunched in the red of his sweater as you watch his grin fade. _Such sharp teeth you have, stranger._ The fluff lining his leather black jacket _poofs_ up. Shocked as well, you see.

 

There’s a resting moment of silence. You’re flushed a bright red by now.

 

“i..uh,” he finally manages, eyelights constricting as he feels you stiffen beneath him. “erm...welcome to the neighborhood, sweetheart?”

 

Then, the shock wears off, and your brain returns from autopilot. You blink once, twice, _three times._ There’s no denying it now.

 

He’s a fucking skeleton. _Holy shit!_

 

“Uh, w-wow okay.” The heel of your palms push against his sternum-- _so heavy_ \-- and he quickly gets the hint, climbing off to the side. He offers you a hand up, to which you gladly accept.

 

Wrong choice.

 

A surge of electricity pricks at your hand, sending you back down. “Augh, what the fuck?!”

 

Dammit, it’s like one of those trick pens!

 

_...Wait a minute._

 

“fuckin’ hell,” he laughs, sweat beading down his temples. “sorry ‘bout that, doll. wrong fuckin’ hand _again_.”

 

_Again_ . He pulls this shit enough for there to be an _‘again’? Really??_

 

“Don’t tell me,” you plead, stifling a giggle. “You have a freaking joy buzzer.”

 

He eyes you for a moment, expression unreadable, before he relents, tossing his hands in the air. Sure enough, a bright red nub sticks out from the palm of his bony hand.

 

“guilty as _charged_.”

 

You lighten up, laughing as you help yourself up. “Okay, _first_ you fall on me, then you zap me, and _now_?”

 

“ _now?_ now what, sweetheart?” he asks, playing dumb with a stupid grin.

 

_Jerk_.

 

“You’re _punning_ ,” you say, exasperated. You march away from him, moving those cursed boxes to the wall. “In my own home! Have you no shame?”

 

He shrugs. “eh, not really.”

 

“Well, obviously,” you retort. “Got any more jokes for me, _funny bones?”_

 

A bony finger taps his jaw, contemplating. Suddenly, his face lights up. “actually, i do.”

 

“Lay it on me, then.”

 

“heh, okay then.” He begins to saunter about, teetering around as if he hadn’t a clue where to go. You watch him carefully.

 

“in america, they got pounds--” his grin widens--”ya know, like mass ‘n shit, right?”

 

You stare at him. “Uh...yeah?”

 

“and the rest of the fuckers.” _Literally everyone else._ “they got that metric stuff. kilos in crap, yeah?”

 

“Uh...uh-huh…” You’re not sure where he's going with this.

 

He dawdles around for a few moments longer, sighing, before he reaches the door. His hand wraps around the door handle, unlocking it.

 

“well,” he starts. “in pretty ol’ ebbot city, we've got somethin’ like that, too.”

 

Rather violently, he swings the door open.

 

**“we call it the** **_skeleton_ ** **.”**

 

A mass of bones topple down, smushing one another at the foot of your home. _Busted._

 

...Oh.

 

_Oh my God._

 

You run a hand down your face. _“Holy crap.”_

 

Looks like you have guests.

 

_..._

 

“SO...YOU’RE NOT IN A CULT, RIGHT?”

 

The skeletons groan once more. That’s the _fifth_ question out of Blackberry regarding the topic of deviltry.

 

“dude, she said no already,” Stretch chuckles, pulling a stringy piece of cheese with his teeth. “right, honey?”

 

Boxes of pizza cross the living room, picked clean for the most part, and pitchers of homemade lemonade live on as a party favorite.

 

Man, are you a _great_ host, or what?

 

“Yep, never have,” you reply, stirring in another scoop of sugar. “I can, for sure, guarantee you that.”

 

Blackberry gives you a skeptical look. Like you’ve got horns growing from your head.

 

“...HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED JOINING ONE? LIKE, HAVE YOU _REALLY_ THOUGHT ABOUT IT BEFORE?”

 

You shake your head. “Nah. I can _summon_ a real tasty pizza, though--” you twiddle your phone with a smile-- “Does that count?”

 

“MWEH HEH HEH! IT COUNTS IN MINE,” Blueberry gives you a cheeky wink, eye sockets wide with vigor. “YOU KNOW, THIS HAS BEEN AN ABSOLUTE DELIGHT. NOW USUALLY I’M AGAINST BARGING IN ON SUCH SHORT NOTICE. BUT _THIS_ ,” he twirls the remaining lemonade in his cup. “AND _YOU_ \--YOU ARE A GREAT HOUSE HOST!”

 

Your face grows hot. _D’aww~_ “Ah, t-thank you! I’m just happy to make some new friends around here.”

 

You had like, what, _two_ of those? God, you _really_ need more friends.

 

Papyrus beams. “I AGREE! IT’S REALLY NICE TO SEE MY ALTERNA--ERM, C-COUSINS GETTING ALONG.” His large, gloved hand scratches the back of his skull. “EVERYONE’S BEEN BUZZING ABOUT LIKE HAPPY BUMBLEBEES, AND I LOVE IT! NO ARGUING, NO SARCASTIC REMARKS--”

 

“in other words,” Rus interrupts, grin smeared with pizza grease. “yer givin’ mister peacemaker over here a break.”

 

Papyrus’ cheekbones tinge a sheepish pink. “COULDN’T HAVE SAID IT ANY BETTER!”

 

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” you rejoice with a _clink_ to his cup. “Cheers!”

 

“NYEH HEH HEH!”

 

The hangout is in full swing as you exchange playful banter with one another. Filled with such mirth, you hardly notice the side conversation happening between Sans and Red.

 

“see? toldja we weren’t all that bad.”

 

That grin... _ugh_. Sans wanted to smack that stupid look right off him.

 

“you got _lucky_ this time,” Sans insists. “this could've ended a lot differently, you know. i mean, do the words ‘ _seance’_ and _‘lawsuit’_ not ring a bell to you?”

 

Red picks the creases between his sharp teeth.

 

“nah, not really,” he admits. From his pocket, he reveals a lighter. “here, do me a favor--” he places the metal box in Sans’ hand--“grab a cig, go outside, and _lighten_ the fuck up, will ya?”

 

“...”

 

Grimace. That's all Sans could do. His eyelights skimp over the little, black box. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

 

The lighter pops in Sans’ grip, causing a bang and a brief flicker of flames. Shocked heads turn his way.

 

“oops,” he says, staring at Red with a crooked smile. “my hand slipped.”

 

It's Red's turn to frown. _Dirty_ _motherfucker_. So that how it's gonna be, huh? Well, two can play at _that_ game.

 

Before Red could say anything, however, you jump the gun first.

 

“Shit, that looks bad,” you hiss, making haste to examine Sans’ hand. “Feel anything?”

 

He gives you a curious grin as you feel up his joints. You’re not like the last humans, that's for sure. A lot more hospitable, caring, witty. Hell, you make a pretty _mean_ lemonade, too.

 

...He’d have to keep an eye socket out for you.

 

“heh, you've got a lot of _nerve_ asking that, kiddo,” he muses, charred phalanges grazing your thumb. “but nah, i’m good. never minded the _heat_ , anyways.”

 

His eyelights meet with Red’s once more. Challenging.

 

“At least let me get you a rag or something,” you insist, already dragging him into the depths of the bathroom. “That stuff _has_ to feel uncomfortable.”

 

“whatever you say, _mom_.”

 

You give him a playful shove, voice dissipating to the rest of the party.

 

“...”

 

The moment Rus notices that you're out of earshot, he speaks up. “pfft, what was _that_ all about?”

 

“I WAS THINKING THE EXACT SAME THING,” Blue exclaims, eye sockets narrowing. “RED...”

 

“what?! stupidass was askin’ fer it,” Red says, kicking the ground. “broke my goddamn lighter, too.”

 

“i’ve got an extra,” Stretch offers up a sleek grey box, but...

 

Blueberry gives him a harsh _glare_ . _Nope, not in front of me, mister._

 

Bashfully, Stretch tucks it back in his pocket. “erm...nevermind then.”

 

“SO,” Blackberry starts out of the blue. “IS ANYONE GOING TO QUESTION WHY SHE LET US IN SO EASILY? I MEAN SURE, I’M GREAT COMPANY, BUT YOU GUYS? EH...SHE COULD'VE DONE WITHOUT YOU NEANDERTHALS.”

 

“I AM _NOT_ A NEANDERTHAL,” Papyrus argues back, fist pressed to his chest. _Aghast._ “I’M A WORKING SKELETON WITH ASPIRATIONS, ASTOUNDING ETIQUETTE, AND FRANKLY,   _STELLAR_ LOOKS!”

 

“ya have to admit, though, he makes a good point,” Rus says, resting his head in folded hands as he turns to Red. “so tell me, buddy. what happened behind that door?”

 

_Asking the hard questions, huh buddy?_

 

“eh, not much,” Red sighs with a laugh. “jus’ showed her my charmin’ self.”

 

“oh stars--”

 

“didn’t mean it like that, stretch.”

 

“--i’d hope not. you just met her.”

 

“yer one ta talk,” Rus muses. “that didn't stop ya from gettin’ that downtown girl on new years.”

 

Stretch pales. “d-dude, really? that was _one_ time.”

 

Outed by his own kind.

 

Blue chokes on his third cup of lemonade, wheezing drops of lemon zest into his scarf. He...he _didn't_ need to know that.

 

“I’M...I’M GOING TO PRETEND I DIDN'T HEAR THAT.”

 

Stretch tugs at the collar of his sweater, blushing. “heh, hear what bro?”

 

Uh...

 

“...WELL THEN,” Blackberry looks between the two brothers, extremely uncomfortable. “BACK TO THE _REAL_ ISSUES AT STAKE HERE. NONE OF YOU GUYS SEE ANYTHING SUSPICIOUS IN HERE, RIGHT? WEIRD ART, SPOOKY CANDLES, OUIJA BOARD. ANYTHING?”

 

Papyrus frowns. “SHE HASN'T EVEN UNPACKED YET. HOW COULD SHE HAVE MANAGED ANY OF THAT?”

 

“it’s magic,” Sans answers from the corner of the room, wiggling his bandaged phalanges. Much to his amusement, the other skeletons startle easily. “right, y/n?”

 

“Yeah, something like that,” you agree, turning to Blackberry. “And no, _for the last time,_ I’m not _that_ kind of weirdo,” you pause. “I’m just the kind that likes to invite strange skeletons into their home.”

 

Red chuckles. “eh, i could live with that.”

 

“AS ALWAYS, Y/N, YOU HAVE GREAT TASTES,” Papyrus gushes, though once he glances outside, his smile fades. “OH DEAR. IT SEEMS TO BE QUITE LATE OUT.”

 

“time sure flies, don't it,” Sans says, shaking you affectionately with his unwrapped hand. “we should head out, guys. the kiddo must be _bone_ tired.”

 

“MWEH, SO SOON? Blueberry’s expression falls as he checks the time. “IT’S ONLY-- _CRIPES!_ IT’S ALREADY _NINE_ O’CLOCK!?”

 

Wait, what? You take a peek at your phone, and yep-- it’s a little past nine now. The summer light remains deceiving; it still could’ve passed for the afternoon. “Oh wow.”

 

“we’ve been here for hours,” Stretch says, a little woeful. “didn’t even feel like it.”

 

“heh, good food ‘n even greater company makes all the difference,” Rus muses, shooting you an appreciative wink. “thanks a million, darlin’. this shebang was a _blast_.”

 

Color rises to your cheeks, flattered. You give him a hardy nod.

 

“HOW MUCH DO WE NEED TO REIMBURSE YOU FOR THE PIZZA?” Blackberry-- of all people-- asks, already reaching into the folds of his scarf. He seems adamant on finding his wallet.

 

You wave a dismissive hand. “No, no. Nothing at all. I’ve got the hookup with the pizzeria’s manager.”

 

Heidi...that blessed son of a gun. She never fails to _deliver._

 

“...ARE YOU SURE? _I-I MEAN,_ ” his cheekbones glow a bright blue; he’s garnered the attention of everyone in the room. “BECAUSE I’D HATE TO SINK INTO DEBT UNKNOWINGLY. Y-YEAH, THAT’S IT!”

 

You don’t catch onto the wary looks the other skeletons exchange.

 

“I’ll be fine, Black,” you pat his shoulder. “Thanks for the concern though.”

 

“I-I’M _NOT_ CONCERNED!” He jumps away like you’re made of hellfire. Whoa, _antsy much?_

 

You pin it down as him just being paranoid. Afterall, he still thinks you’re in a cult. That’s understandable, you suppose..?

 

You decide to leave him be, turning to Sans and asking, “So...uh, do you guys need anything before y’all leave? I think I’ve got an extra pitcher of lemonade.”

 

He thinks for a moment before shrugging. “nah, i think we’re--”

 

“i want yer number.”

 

You blink. Wide eyes of all sorts dart towards Red.

 

He’s offering up his phone. _Grinning._ “ya know, for all those _bonely_ nights ahead of ya.”

 

“...”

 

_Oh God_ , when’s the last time a guy’s asked for your number? Months, _years_ ago maybe??

 

Whatever. Just be cool.

 

“Oh, o-okay,” you stammer, nearly dropping his phone as you punch in your digits. The deed is done, albeit a bit shaky. “It was...really nice of you guys to _drop_ in.”

 

Nailed it.

 

Stretch is the first to chuckle, handing you his phone once you finish up. “i’ve got the good memes, honey. just you wait.”

 

Ho boy. He’s not the only person with a few tricks up their sleeve. Somewhere, deep in the depths of your phone, you’re ready to dish out those fire memes. An album filled with accumulating images plague your phone with shitty humor.

 

Suddenly, you’re not so nervous anymore.

 

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” you giggle, more than glad to give up your number once more. _So the games begin._

 

Then Blueberry pipes up: “OOOHH! I WANT IN, TOO! WE COULD PLAN EVEN MORE GET-TOGETHERS LIKE THIS! A-AND YOU CAN TEACH ME THAT DELICIOUS LEMONADE RECIPE OF YOURS.”

 

You beam at him; what a cutie pie. “Sounds like a plan, Blue.” _Three guys._

 

Blackberry clears his throat, refusing to meet your gaze as he hands over a phone to his brother. He’s still... _glowing?_

 

“I...I SUPPOSE I _COULD_ LIST YOU AS AN EMERGENCY CONTACT,” he sighs. Snapping his fingers, he gestures to Rus. “ _GO_. GO GET IT FOR ME.”

 

So demanding. You watch as Rus saunters over without question.

 

_So obedient._

 

“aye aye, captain.” Rus holds the two cellphones out to you with a grin. “ya heard the man, darlin’.”

 

_Four, five more skeletons_.

 

“HO BOY. THAT'S A LOT OF PHONES.” Papyrus looks to each one of his skeletal comrades; they all seem to be typing in their own name for you. _How odd. “_ WOULD YOU BE OKAY WITH GIVING ME YOUR PHONE NUMBER, TOO? I-I KNOW HOW SOME HUMANS ARE WITH THEIR PRIVACY AND--”

 

“No, no. I’ve got you, Paps,” you insist, repeating the process yet again. “You’re too cool to deny, big guy.” _Another one._

 

His breath catches, and he stammers, _stupefied_. Like you knocked the rationale out of him.

 

_Wowie! A genuine compliment!_ His bones rattle with _glee_.

 

“W-WELL, THANK YOU! I FIND YOUR PRESENCE TO BE QUITE INVITING AS WELL--” his eye sockets graze the room. _Look away, look away_ \-- “AAAAND MAYBE NEXT TIME, I COULD HELP YOU RENOVATE THE HOUSE A BIT! I MEAN, I’VE BEEN TOLD THAT I HAVE _IMPECCABLE_ TASTES BEFORE.”

 

His scarf billows-- somehow?-- as he strikes a valiant pose. Only now do you realize how tall he is as well. Like a big ol’ teddy bear.

 

_So soft and kind._

 

“That’d be a lot of help, actually,” you admit, feeling a bit of weight fall off your shoulders. “I’d really appreciate it!”

 

“NYEH HEH HEH! IT ONLY MAKES SENSE FOR ME TO HELP,” he states with a determined stomp. “AFTERALL, YOU CAN’T SPELL _CHIVALRY_ WITHOUT SEVERAL LETTERS IN MY NAME!”

 

“Oh my God,” you snicker, unknowing if that was supposed to be a valid point or not. “Okay then. Consider it a date!”

 

_“NYEH?!”_

 

Already turned to Sans, you don’t even notice the pink glow illuminating his brother’s face. Sans mentions nothing of it as he hands you his phone.

 

“gotta keep me in check, nurse,” he claims, rolling his affected hand around. Truth be told, there was little to no damage. His defences, despite everything, were impressive enough to dull the blow. In fact, he was completely fine.

 

_...But you didn’t need to know that._

 

“Ha, yeah. I will,” you reply, voice softening up with a titter. “Just...take it easy, yeah?”

 

_Oh no._

 

He pulls out the finger guns. “always do, kiddo.”

 

The herd of skeletons leave with a chorus of goodbyes, all scattering to their respective homes. Still a little starstruck, you linger outside for a bit longer.

 

Looking around the neighborhood, you realize they’re all congregated around your house. Sans and Papyrus live straight ahead, Blackberry and Rus to your left, Blueberry and Stretch to your right, and Red lives alone to the right of Sans.

 

Huh...must be nice to have the house to himself.

 

By now, a sprinkle of stars dot the sky. Shimmering. The air remains warm from the late summer’s heat, and you breathe it all in. Your first night in Ebbot City. _It’s exhilarating._

 

You’re _bound_ to meet new people tomorrow.

 

With a loud yawn, you walk back inside, ready to break in that new mattress of yours. Now, if it _only_ had a frame…

  
_Eh,_ you’d work on that later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative chapter titles: "Red's kind of a dick to Sans" or "Knock Knock, Motherfucker"
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed Red's sassy one-liners 'cause I sure as hell did.
> 
> Also Papyrus...bless his wonderful soul.


	3. Spoiled Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You take a trip to the grocery store.

Edge drums the steering wheel with unnecessary fervor. Loud and proud, his speakers thump out an infamous guitar riff.

 

**_“American woman, stay away from me_ **

  
  
**_American woman, mama let me be!”_**

 

His sharp teeth curl into a nefarious grin, bones rattling with the bass. Months of radio surfing had led up to this moment; he finally found his station. The one thing he could relate to most.

  
  
A knock on the car window, however, throws off his groove.

  
  
“SHIT,” he makes a leap for the master volume, muting it completely. “WHAT THE-- _DAMMIT!_ ”

  
  
Though the windows are up, Edge hears Blue’s bombastic laughter ringing through the neighborhood. Drawing unwanted attention.

  
  
Red-faced, Edge makes haste to roll down the window. “G-GET YOUR BONY COCCYX IN HERE, PRICK!”

  
  
The skeleton howls even louder, but obliges nonetheless, clutching his sides as he circles to the passenger seat. The door slams behind him with a loud thunk.

  
  
“I’M SORRY--”

  
  
“OH _PHOOEY_ , YOU’RE NOT SORRY.”

  
  
“--I REALLY AM!”

 

Tiny jackass, he’s still laughing!

  
  
Edge glowers at the road ahead, and from the collarbones up, he’s flushed a dark crimson.

 

“HOLY...WOW,” Blue groans into his bandana, recollecting himself. “I HAVEN’T LAUGHED LIKE THAT IN AGES.”

  
  
Edge says nothing, rather, he turns up the radio. The station’s now on a brief commercial break.

  
  
Blue fidgets with his seatbelt, now scraping for a conversation. Anything. Awkward silences were the bane of his existence.

  
  
“...SO WHAT WERE YOU LISTENING TO?”

  
  
“NONE OF YOUR BEESWAX.”

  
Great start.

  
  
“OH, OKAY THEN,” Blue relents for a moment, then... “WE SAW THE HUMAN YESTERDAY.”

 

Edge tosses his head back, scoffing. _This again._

 

“I’M WELL AWARE,” he insists, long fingers tightening on the wheel. "RED WOULDN'T SHUT UP ABOUT HER LAST NIGHT."

 

Blue gives him a sidelong glance. _Interested._ “IS THAT SO?”

 

Edge nods. “VERY MUCH SO.”

 

He doesn’t give him any more than that, so Blueberry relents. He’d go fishing for information some other time. For now, they had other business to attend to.

 

“SO WHAT’S ON THE AGENDA TODAY?”

 

“GROCERIES,” Edge says, scowl deepening. “DAMN CREAMPUFF WANTS US TO SHOP FOR EVERYONE.” He runs a gloved hand down his skull. “I SWEAR, THAT SLUG’S GETTING ON MY LAST NERVES. AND HERE I THOUGHT _I_ WAS THE CONTROLLING ONE.”

 

Blue nods. _He’s not wrong._

 

“GET A LOAD OF THIS,” he begins. “HE GOT ON MY TAILBONE THE OTHER DAY FOR SMITING THIS SPECIEST BASTARD.”

 

_“A SPECIEST?”_

 

“A SPECIEST,” Edge laments, gliding through the traffic. “THAT GOOD-FOR-NOTHING DEGENERATE THREW COFFEE ON MY SWEATER. MY FAVORITE SWEATER! SO I THREW MINE BACK AT HIM, AS YOU DO.”

 

Blue flinches. “UH...I DON’T DO _THAT_ , BUT I MEAN, I DEFINITELY SEE WHERE YOU’RE COMING FROM!”

 

“RIGHT?! I SHOULDN’T BE GETTING IN TROUBLE FOR _DEFENDING_ MYSELF,” Edge deflates in his seat. “YOU CLEARLY GET IT. WHY CAN’T HE?”

 

“I...I DON’T KNOW.”

 

The two fall silent as the radio plays on. Low and rumbling. There’s nothing left to say.

 

**_…._ **

 

“...Whoa.”

 

Your mouth hangs agape as you walk through the double doors. Large, flashy, bustling with monsters and humans alike, you hardly register the fact that this is just a supermarket.

 

“Hey there, little buddy,” a voice greets, making you jump. “You might need this.”

 

You turn to face the store worker: a cat monster dawning a polo in the company colors, black and purple. His grin is a bit off-putting as he nudges a shopping cart your way.

 

“Thank you,” you titter, retrieving the cart with an awkward smile. “Uh...have a good one.”

 

He says nothing. _Only smiles._

 

Your pace quickens.

 

From your back pocket, you pull out a crumpled list of grocery items. It’s filled from top to bottom with... _well_ , everything you had to leave behind. Produce, dairy, meats, and a couple of toiletries. A _clean slate_.

 

You beam at the thought of a new start. Here, in Ebbot City, you are reborn. From the fires of hell (read: your old apartment complex), you emerge like a phoenix. New, reborn, free from the ties that once held you down.

 

You’ve officially pulled a _Shawshank._

 

“I did it,” you say in disbelief. “I’m actually here.”

 

Shelves of bright fruit catch your attention, and you make a beeline towards them. Today’s going to be a great day.

 

_Strike it off the list, strike it off!_

 

Minutes later, you leave the produce aisle with a smile; your list is becoming smaller and smaller. Next stop, the _dairy_ aisle. You stroll by a line of refrigerators, picking up a few items along the way. Eggs, cheese, and your favorite _guilty pleasure_ snacks _._ Conveniently placed nearby.

 

_...What? There was a coupon!_

 

_...Damn marketing geniuses._

 

With a heavier-than-before cart of goods, you finally reach the milk...only to have your path blocked by a _fuckton_ of shopping carts. All filled to the brim with grocery items. You look beyond the ruckus to see who’s behind all of this.

 

The perps, or at least one of them, are quite recognizable.

 

“IT’S THE BETTER DEAL, EDGE,” Blueberry insists, pointing at the milk’s label. “THE NUMBERS DON’T LIE.”

 

“YEAH, BUT THE TASTE DOES.” The taller skeleton-- Edge, you think it was?-- puts his foot down. _Literally._ His boot clacks against the floor. “I WANT MILK, NOT THIS CARTON OF _FERMENTED COW DUNG._ ”

 

_“EDGE!”_

 

You turn away with a bark of laughter, cursing yourself. But come on now, _‘fermented cow dung’_ ? How were you _not_ supposed to laugh at that?

 

Their skulls whip towards you, and you startle. _Of course, they had heard you._

 

Blueberry springs your way, still swinging around that carton of milk. “Y/N, GOOD MORNING! HOW ARE YOU?”

 

“I’m good,” you respond, eyeing the full shopping carts around you. “What’s all this for?”

 

“HUH?” Blueberry looks between you and the carts, then flushes a light blue. “O-OH! IT’S NOT ALL MINE, IF THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE THINKING. MY, ERM... _COUSINS_ SENT ME AND EDGE HERE TO GO SHOPPING FOR THEM.”

 

“Ah, that explains it,” you sigh, making sudden eye contact with the other skeleton. “Uh...hello! I’m Y/n, Blue’s neighbor--”

 

“I KNOW WHO YOU ARE.”

 

“O-Oh,” you deflate with a laugh. “Well then, who are you?”

 

His teeth draw into a smirk as he places a confident hand to his chest. “I AM THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE EDGE, FORMER CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD AND WORLD RENOWNED CHEF!”

 

You blink. “Oh, wow.” _That’s a mouthful._

 

Blueberry leans into you, saying in a loud whisper, “HE’S LYING ABOUT THAT LAST PART.”

 

Edge gasps. “AM NOT!”

 

“ARE TO!”

 

_“AM NOT!”_

 

_“ARE TO!”_

 

You feel this argument could go on for ages, so you work to change the subject. “I see you’re, uh...getting milk too, huh?”

 

_Real smooth, Y/n._

 

Blue opens his mouth to reply, but Edge plucks the carton from him before he can say anything. “WE ARE, BUT WE’RE SURE AS HELL NOT GETTING THIS ONE.”

 

Blueberry huffs. “YES, WE ARE.”

 

“NO, WE’RE NOT.”

 

_“YES, WE ARE.”_

 

“ _NYEH_! I REFUSE TO BUY THIS LOWLY BRAND OF MILK,” Edge yells, drawing attention from other shoppers. His sights land on you with great intensity. “HUMAN, YOU SETTLE THIS!”

 

_Wait, what?_

 

“Me?!”

 

“YES, _YOU_ ,” he parrots, jabbing your forehead with his long phalanges. “WITH _OUR_ HARD-EARNED MONEY, DO YOU THINK WE SHOULD BUY THIS--” he gestures to a wall of name brand milk-- “SATISFACTORY SOURCE OF CATTLE JUICE. OR _THIS--”_ he scowls at the brutally shaken carton in his hand-- “DISGUSTING, SNOW PISS LOOKING, CHEMICAL TASTING PIECE OF GARBAGE?!”

 

Oof.

 

“Wow, okay,” you laugh, looking between the two choices. Never have you met someone with such strong opinions on dairy products. “Are you looking to save money?”

 

“YES.”

 

“NO.”

 

The two skeletons glare at each other.

 

“I’M LOOKING FOR THE BETTER VALUE,” Blueberry clarifies, gesturing to himself. “IT’S BETTER FOR US IN THE LONG RUN!”

 

“AND I’M LOOKING FOR A PRODUCT _WITH_ VALUE,” Edge retorts, modeling his choice of milk.  “AS IN, THE BETTER TASTING PRODUCT. WHICH IS CLEARLY _MY_ CHOICE!”

 

“WE’RE WORKING ON A BUDGET HERE, _EDGE!_ ”

 

Edge backs away with a laugh. “OKAY THEN. _YOU_ CAN BUY YOUR GALLON OF LIQUID ASS, AND I’LL BE GETTING A DELICIOUS FIX OF CALCIUM ON MY OWN BUDGET!”

 

Blueberry turns away with puffed cheeks. “FINE, BUT DON’T COME CRAWLING TO ME WHEN YOU’RE IN DEBT WITH THE MILKMAN!”

 

“MILKMEN DON’T EVEN EXIST ANYMORE, YOU _FOSSIL_!”

 

“WHY, _YOU_ \--”

 

Okay, that’s enough.

 

“I’m okay with both brands, really,” you admit with a shrug. “It’s just milk, after all.”

 

“I SEE,” Edge fails to mask his discontent, his eye sockets narrowing into two fine lines. “WELL, WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE WE DO THEN, HUMAN?”

 

“I...uh, I don’t know,” you admit sheepishly, glancing towards the fridges. Suddenly, _an idea_. “Actually, give me a sec.”

 

You notice a bundle of coupons hanging by the door handle. With a small tug, you take the coupon and examine its fine print.

 

“Heck yes,” you smile as you hand Edge the coupon. “You get a dollar off-- _and_ you can double them here, too!”

 

Edge gives you a peculiar stare, gaze shifting between you and the paper. His brother had mentioned quite a few things about you. For what seemed like _hours_ . But he never mentioned this… _resourcefulness_ of yours.

 

That damn skeleton, always leaving out the important details.

 

“...HUH,” Edge muses aloud, complacent as he looks towards Blueberry. “IT APPEARS THAT I’VE MADE THE BETTER CHOICE.”

 

Blueberry frowns. _Curse this pompous skeleton!_ Making him look bad in front of his new human friend.

 

Seconds pass, and Blueberry finally exhales a long, forlorn breath. “...FINE, BUT IT’S ON YOU IF WE GET IN TROUBLE!”

 

“LIKE I CARE,” Edge retorts, placing a few milk cartons in the basket. “I GET BLAMED FOR EVERYTHING YOU IMBECILES DO, ANYWAYS--” he nods his head towards you-- “ _YOU_ . GO GATHER MORE OF THESE... _MARKETING INCENTIVES._ ”

 

He waves you off with a flick of his hand, still examining the coupon. _How rude._

 

Your smile flatlines.

 

“They’re called coupons,” you comment, voice reaching a candor you haven’t heard in a while. “And...uh, I didn’t hear a _please_ in any of that.”

 

“DON’T NEED ONE,” he claims, finally shoving that slip of paper into his back pocket. “YOU KNOW WHAT I ASKED OF YOU.”

 

You hum a noncommittal tone. _Smiling_. You’ve been down this road before: burying deep those unsaid words and grinning through the pain. It’s like clockwork. And as per usual, you go through the motions once more.

 

The tension in your shoulders fall, your fists uncurl, and your breathing steadies. You’ve come to your senses.

 

“Here you go,” you finally say, handing him the remaining coupons. They're crinkled and damp with hand sweat. “You’re _dairy_ welcome.”

 

You diffuse the tension with humor; the only way you know how. It’s worked in the past, _and by stars_ , it’s going to work now.

 

Edge, however, doesn’t seem pleased in the slightest. His hands go up, exasperated as he yells, “THAT EXPLAINS IT!”

 

The coupons in hand go flying at his exclamation. He’s reached an epiphany of sorts. About his brother, about _you_.

 

“Uh...what?” you ask, completely lost.

 

Silly, oblivious human.

 

You attempt to inquire further, but Blueberry places a hand on your shoulder, saying, “IT’S BEST NOT TO QUESTION IT. HE’S HAVING A MOMENT.”

 

Edge keeps gesticulating to the lights above, muttering obscenities to himself as he continues to scare other shoppers.

 

...What a character, he is.

 

“SEE?” Blueberry insists. “HE’S AN ABSOLUTE MESS IN FANCY CLOTHING,” he pauses. “BUT...I SUPPOSE HE’S GOOD COMPANY. HE’S JUST A REAL PIECE OF WORK SOMETIMES, YOU KNOW?”

 

_Oh, we know._

 

“You live with him or what?” you ask, wondering what it’s like to room with such a character.

 

He snickers. “OH, STARS NO! THAT’S RED’S BURDEN TO CARRY.”

 

“Red!?” you gawk. You couldn’t imagine that silver-tongued skeleton living with this… _ticking time bomb._ “But they’re so--”

 

“INCOMPATIBLE? _MWEH_ , YOU’RE PROBABLY RIGHT. BUT BELIEVE IT OR NOT, THEY’RE BROTHERS.”

 

You hunch over you shopping cart, contemplating. You suppose they shared similar characteristics: same color scheme, same sharp features...and uh, they’re both skeletons. Is that a racist thing to say? _Speciest_ , perhaps?

 

You make a mental note to do some research later on tonight.

 

“That’s, uh...cool I guess?” Your smile is wry as you grab the handle of your shopping cart. “I’m sorry, but I really have to get going. It was nice seeing you guys.” You begin to walk away, sending the two skeletons a cheeky wave. “Send Red my condolences!”

 

“ _MWEH-HEH-HEH!_ I WILL, NEIGHBOR!”

 

Blueberry watches you disappear into another aisle, grin wide until he turns abruptly towards Edge. “YOU BIG, LUNKERING BABY! WHAT WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?!”

 

Edge gawks at Blueberry, finally roused from his inner (and outer) brooding. “OH, YOU _DID NOT_ JUST CALL ME THAT!”

 

“WELL, IF THE BINKY FITS.” Blueberry pinches his nasal bridge, frowning. “ONE HUMAN. YOU COULDN'T BE CIVIL WITH _ONE_ HUMAN!”

 

“I _WAS_ CIVIL,” he insists, arms crossed. “ _SHE_ WAS THE ONE WHO QUESTIONED MY AUTHORITY.”

 

_This guy._

 

“YOU KNOW YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF HER, RIGHT?” Blueberry squares his shoulders, perturbed at the notion. “AND AT THIS RATE _,_ YOU COULDN'T EVEN BE HER FRIEND.”

 

Edge bristles, if only for a moment, as his sharp teeth grind. “BAH, THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE! I’M ADORED BY ALL, LOUSY HUMANS INCLUDED.”

 

“UGH, FORGET I SAID ANYTHING,” Blueberry says, wisely keeping his opinions to himself. His phone plays an upbeat melody, ringing and vibrating in his pocket. He checks it, and groans at the caller ID displayed on-screen.

 

Edge attempts to peer at Blueberry’s phone. “IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?”

 

Blueberry says nothing.

 

“ _WELL?_ ARE YOU GOING TO ANSWER HIM?”

 

“...IT’D BE THE RIGHT THING TO DO,” Blueberry responds, his voice strained.

 

However, despite his words, Blueberry makes no move to answer the call.

 

Edge covers his teeth with a gloved hand, chuckling as the ringtone fades.

 

“LOOK AT YOU GO, YOU REBEL.”

 

Blueberry groans into his bandana, mortified. “I CAN’T BELIEVE I JUST DID THAT! GOSH-- I’M SUCH A TERRIBLE MONSTER!”

 

“WELL, THAT JUST MEANS WE HAVE ANOTHER THING IN COMMON,” Edge claims, grabbing the shopping cart next to him. “LET’S GET OUT OF HERE. I’M CRAVING MEAN CREAM TODAY.”

 

Blueberry cracks a smile. “UH...IT’S ACTUALLY CALLED _NICE CREAM_.”

 

“YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT.”

 

With a laugh, Blueberry pockets his phone, choosing to ignore that glaring notification on his lock screen:

 

**_Missed Call:_ **

**_Sans_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Edge was boppin' to was American Woman by The Guess Who if you were curious ;)


	4. Country Rooooads, Take Me Hoooome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which you have the directional capacity of a dizzy four-year-old.

Hours pass and here you are, yet again, circling the same jumbles of buildings and backroads. Soon, you realize the day is no more as the remaining sunlight dips below the horizon.

 

Shit.

 

Over the sound of a quiet car radio, your GPS attempts to guide you home.

 

Right turn, left turn. Straight, straight-- _damn it,_ _you missed the exit!_ The GPS laughs. Rerouting…

 

"Jesus Christ…"

 

Your attention flits between your phone and the road ahead, trying to make sense of it all. For hours, you've been thrown at the mercy of your phone's GPS, an outdated service filled with bugs and vague directions.

 

The radio fuzzes out, and the car fills with dead air. You can only sigh.

 

Great.

 

_“In four hundred feet, make a sharp left.”_

 

You grimace. “Yeah, I know--”

 

**_“Make a sharp left now.”_ **

 

“--fuck, okay!” You make an abrupt turn, tires squealing against asphalt as you veer into the next lane. Reckless. Your tire jumps the curve with a loud _ker-thunk_.

 

"No, shit!"

 

Your car swerves, out of control, and you're hard-pressed to evade the street signs ahead. You scream, unable to do much more than that.

 

The end is nigh.

 

A flash of vermilion crosses the ground, and for a moment, the world slows to a stop. You feel your stomach lurch, head light with vertigo as the space around you glows. Your eyes clamp shut, waiting for the moment to pass-- and it does.

  
When you open your eyes, you find that you're no longer barreling down the sidewalk. Rather, you've come to a complete stop, with the engine killed and your headlights off. The night remains still, save for a fleet of moths ticking against the fluorescent lights above.

 

_…You take this moment to thank your lucky stars._

 

"Holy crap."

 

Head bowed against the steering wheel, you breathe, letting the strong allure of gasoline hit your senses. _Deep breath in, deep breath out._ Your heartbeat returns to a soft thrum. Shifty-eyed, you glance up at the ill-lit building before you.

 

Ads of all sorts press against the convenience store's fogged windows. Perfect swirls of Icees and delectable looking hot dogs stick out the most, blown up in crisp, bright posters. _Taunting you._

 

...Near death experiences sure make a sister hungry.

 

Still shaking, your clammy hands pop the car door open. Finally, you're out of that _deathmobile_.

 

The air sticks to your skin, warm and damp as you head towards the double doors. Though you know you're safe, you keep looking back at your car, apprehensive. You get the feeling that something's not right.

 

“The hell just--” your voice drops to a huff-- “nevermind.” You figure there’s no point in dwelling on a good thing. And hey-- _at least you’re not dead,_ you tell yourself.

 

Not yet, at least _._

 

_Ehh…._

 

You ban that morbid thought to the back of your mind as you enter the building, with bells chiming from above. You shiver, cool air flushing over your sweat-slicked skin. It’s a pleasant contrast to the humid outdoors. Timidly, you survey the front of the store and-- _wait a minute._

 

“You work here?”

 

“heh, yep.”

 

You break into a goofy smile. “No kidding!”

 

Rus flicks the nametag pinned to his shirt. “i’ve got the proof right here, darlin’.” You giggle, and he leans across the counter, enthralled. “so what brings ya here, anyways? i mean... not that i mind yer company or anything.”

 

_Oh no._

 

Your hands begin to fidget, pulling and grasping at one another.

 

“Oh, haha... yeah,” you start, flushing pink as you turn the other way. “ _About that._ ”

 

His eye sockets light up. “wait, wait, wait,” he says, leaving the confines of his post. “hold that thought, darlin’.”

 

He crosses the length of the store with sticky, audible footsteps. Once he reaches the Icee machines, he turns to you with a grin. “care for a snack, _you snack?”_

 

Rus sends you the cheesiest wink he could muster, already removing the cups from their holder.

 

_This boi..._

 

“Pfft, you loser,” you snicker, though for a moment, your heart stutters. “Yeah, sure. I’ll bite. How much are they?”

 

Rus shakes his head. “for you? _nothin’,_ ” he claims. “not a damn cent.”

 

Your eyebrows shoot up, surprised at first, until the guilt begins to fester. “I, uh...wouldn’t you get in trouble for that?”

 

Rus shrugs. “not if i’m buyin’”

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

“Oh no, Rus _,_ ” you sigh, sifting through your pockets for money. “I’ve got it, really! _”_

 

With a handful of change, you walk towards Rus with the intentions of paying for your drink.

 

A skilled multi-tasker, he is, as he physically _nopes_ away from your outreached hand. All the while, he’s filling the two drinks.

 

“i said i got it, darlin’.”

 

“Well, _so did I_.” You attempt to shove the change in his personal space, but he twists away, bumping you playfully with his bony hip.

 

“gotta try harder than that,” he muses, topping off the first drink with relative ease. “besides, everything tastes better when it’s free.” He slides the filled cup to the side, and begins filling the second one. “what’s yer favorite flavor, sugar? no, no, _wait_ \-- let me guess...cherry?”

 

“Rus--”

 

“or maybe ya like the classics,” he continues. “like that coca-cola shit, right?”

 

“Rus--”

 

“Hm...nah. you seem like-- _that’s it,”_ he finally says, nodding his head. “you like a lil’ bit of everything’, don’tcha?” He regards your vexed expression with a sly grin. “you naughty lil’ minx, you.”

 

Your cheeks flare a bright red, sending Rus into a fit of laughter. He fills the cup with a perfect balance of the two Icee flavors, and much to your chagrin, it looks delicious.

 

“You’re so freaking stupid,” you groan, eyes drifting to his now free hands. You attempt the lunge once more, change jingling in your hand as you do so.

 

He dodges again with ease, laughing at your expense. “who you callin’ stupid, _stupid?”_

 

You outright ignore his comment, giggling wildly. “Just take the money, you ass!”

 

“ _stars,_ darlin’-- what am i, a prostitute?”

 

“What?! Ew, no!” You jerk away with a bark of laughter, swatting the swell of his ribcage. In this moment, you finally realize how solid the skeleton is. His bones are thicker, stronger even, than the ones of a human. Like hitting the surface of malleable concrete. And with those stupid bony hips of his, you’re sure he could damn near kill somebody.

 

But it’s not like he would, though... _right?_

 

His expression fills with mirth as he hands you the mixed drink. “bottoms up, darlin’.”

 

Your willpower fades, and you reluctantly admit defeat, accepting the Icee from his hand. “...You really didn’t have to.”

 

“yer right, i didn’t,” he pauses with a wink. “but i wanted to.”

 

A broad smile spreads across your face _._

 

_Nah, he wouldn’t hurt a fly._

 

“Thanks, Rus,” you say, gently bumping your shoulder against him. “I really appreciate it.”

 

You take a tentative slurp of your Icee, and damn, it tastes amazing.

 

His cheekbones dust a subtle marmalade as he clears his nonexistent throat. “yeah, uh, sure. no problem.” He rubs the back of his neck, chuckling. “so, uh...you had some stuff to tell me, right?”

 

“Huh?” You look up from your drink, straw sticking to your candy-colored lips. “Oh yeah! You’re right,” you reply, followed by a languid sigh. “Lemme tell you. It’s been a really, _really_ long day.”

 

Rus snickers. “oh _really?”_

 

“ _Really really_ ,” you shoot back. “But yeah, it’s been kind of a weird day for me.”

 

“well, what happened?”

 

Your tongue plays with the tip of your straw, contemplating. “Well,” you begin. “It started when I bumped into some of your cousins at the store.”

 

_Cousins._

 

What a fucking joke.

 

He keeps his thoughts to himself, and simply listens as you vent about your day.

 

\--”and then the GPS kept leading me in circles and I got frustrated. Like-- _damn!_ How is it even possible for a map to suck so bad?”

 

“no clue, darlin’,” he sighs, staring at the pout of your red-stained lips. “got anything else on your mind?”

 

Hm...

 

You think for a moment, then...

 

“I need a job,” you say, patting the change in your pockets. “Like, soon. _Very soon.”_

 

“Ah.” He looks between you and the ads on the windows. “well, they’re always hiring here.”

 

Now there’s an idea he could get behind. Telling stories, eating junk food, ensuing shenanigans for hours on end. It sure as hell beats the drag of watching the clock tick by. Minute one, minute two, minute three...

 

He subdues the grin tugging at his teeth.

 

_You’re getting this job._

 

You consider the offer. “I could, but it’s kind of a long drive home.” You swirl the remnants of your drink with a straw. “Like, how do _you_ handle traveling so far everyday?”

 

Rus quirks a brow. “...uh, darlin’?”

 

“What’s up?”

 

“you know we live, like, five minutes away, right?”

 

You blink. “...You’re shitting me.”

 

“Nope,” Rus replies with a grin. “i don’t got the _bowels_ to do that to ya, hun.”

 

“Oh my fucking god.” You bury your face in your palms, groaning. “So you’re telling me that I’ve been driving around-- _for hours, mind you!_ \-- for jack shit nothing?”

 

Rus shrugs. “yeah, pretty much.”

 

Your head whips up. “Wow,” you say, absolutely flabbergasted. “Well fuck me--alright! Cool, cool, whatever! I’m good,” you pause with a sharp inhale. “This is fine.”

 

Rus looks at you incredulously. “is it really though?”

 

“ _Shut uuup,”_ you whine, slouching. “God, I hate myself.”

 

He gives you a pat on the back, chuckling as he plucks the Icee from your hands. “you done with this?” You nod, and he tosses the cups away. “how’d it taste?”

 

_Amazing._

 

“Pretty darn good, Rus.” You give him an honest thumbs up. “Pretty darn good.”

 

His smile remains. “well, that’s good to hear--”

 

“YOU ABSENT MINDED SON OF A BITCH!”

 

The doors swing open so hard that the bells atop the doorsill go flying. With a jingle-jangle, a box of candies fall to the floor.

 

Blackberry fails to notice the commotion he’s caused. “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!”

 

“uh...” Rus gives you a sidelong glance, then shrugs. “here?”

 

Blackberry frowns. “DUR, YEAH. OBVIOUSLY.”

 

You light up; _it’s the hell-bent, jittery skeleton!_

 

“Hey, Berry,” you greet with a cheerful wave. “How are things?”

 

His skull whips towards you, and in seconds, he begins to glow.

 

“...YOU’RE HERE.”

 

He seems at a loss for any other words.

 

You give him a strange look. “Well, yeah. Clearly,” you say with a laugh. “You’re here, too.”

 

His eye sockets widen. _Panicked._

 

“D-DON’T GET THE WRONG IDEA! I’M JUST HERE FOR MY BROTHER,” he insists, arms crossed. “WHY ARE _YOU_ HERE?”

 

You recall the comedy of errors that led up to this moment. “Erm... _reasons?”_

 

He squawks, like the sound of a wrong buzzer. “TRY AGAIN.”

 

“Gotta get that gas?”

 

“IMPOSSIBLE! YOUR CAR’S PARKED UP FRONT.”

 

Rus looks between the two of you, amused.

 

“I was...hungry?”

 

“NOPE.”

 

“Tired?”

 

“YOUR FIDGETING SAYS OTHERWISE.”

 

“Okay, okay! You got me,” you admit, albeit a bit flustered. “I, uh, I got lost.”

 

He watches you, face full of scrutiny, before he gasps, “HOW!? YOU LIVE, LIKE, A COUPLE OF MINUTES AWAY!”

 

“that’s what i told her.”

 

“I know, I know,” you sigh, face prickling with shame. “Give me a break here. It’s been a long day.”

 

“yeah, m’lord,” Rus adds, placing his hand on Blackberry’s shoulder. “guess you could say she’s _been through hell and back.”_ When Blackberry jolts, Rus leans in further. “she met the fuckburger today.”

 

Though he recoils at the name, Blackberry pries, “THE ASHTRAY?”

 

“nah. think the spicy edition.”

 

“OH,” Blackberry says. “ _THAT_ ASSHAT!”

 

“heh, yup.”

 

“OH STARS.” Blackberry’s attention swarms back to you with an almost sympathetic frown. “THAT _DOES_ SOUND AWFUL!”

 

You bristle, guilt beginning to eat at you. “He wasn’t _that_ bad.”

 

“UH-HUH, YEAH, SURE,” Blackberry replies curtly, nodding along to your words. “HE’S ABOUT AS PLEASANT AS THE FILTH ON THESE FLOORS.”

 

You flinch once more.

 

“That’s a little much, don’t you think?”

 

Your words come out a little more forceful than planned, catching the attention of both skeletons. They both cast you odd glances, looking between you and themselves. A silent conversation of the eyes. At first, they seem to be on the same page.

 

Blackberry, however,  jumps to a rather hasty conclusion.

 

“I DON’T BELIEVE IT."

 

“Wait, what,” you stammer, jumping in place. “What don’t you believe?”

 

“YOU’VE GOT A THING FOR SUBPAR ASSHOLES!”

 

“...”

 

_What??!!!??_

 

Your brain fries.

 

_“Excuse me?!”_

 

Rus chokes on air, fist curled to his mouth as to quiet himself.

 

“YOU HEARD ME,” Blackberry continues. “YOU HAVE A BIG, STINKING CRUSH ON EDGE!”

 

What the actual fuck?

 

“What-- _no I don’t,”_ you exclaim, cheeks flushing. “How’s that even possible? I just met the guy!”

 

You seem to deter Blackberry with this argument.

 

He perseveres, nonetheless. “W-WELL, THEN WHY ELSE WOULD YOU BE BLUSHING?”

 

You sputter for a moment, then lash out with, ”Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’re _putting me on the spot here!”_

 

“erm, i think she’s telling the truth, m’lord,” Rus turns to you, eye sockets prying. “right, darlin’?”

 

You miss the relieved sighs from the skeletons as you quickly answer, “Yes, I swear!”

 

“...IS THAT SO? BROTHER--”

 

“m’on it.”

 

Rus looks at you for a moment longer, looking for any telltale signs of dishonesty. A shift of the eye, a twitch of the hands. _Anything._

 

He sighs.

 

You’ve passed the test.

 

“she’s good,” Rus simply concludes, and with that, he heads back to his counter. “we heading out?”

 

“AN HOUR LATE, BUT YES,” Blackberry replies, nodding towards the door. “YOU’RE LUCKY I DIDN’T WATCH AHEAD OF YOU.”

 

“thoughtful as always, m’lord.”

 

Before they leave, Blackberry reveals a napkin from his scarf. Looking to his brother, he asks, “YOU’VE GOT A PEN?”

 

Rus pats himself down. “uh, yeah. right here.”

 

He tosses the pen Blackberry’s way, and Blackberry catches it with ease. You watch as he pops the cap open and begins to draw on the napkin. Scribbling, grumbling, he seems enraptured in whatever he’s doing. Then suddenly--

 

“HERE.”

 

\--he hands you the napkin.

 

“HOLD IT THIS WAY,” Blackberry says, moving the napkin upright in your hands. “FOLLOW THESE COORDINATES AND YOU’LL BE HOME SOON ENOUGH.”

 

Your fingers glide along the pseudo-map, contemplating your past blunder. “Oh, wow okay! So _that’s_ where I kept getting lost.” Your eyes flicker back to the expectant skeleton. “Thanks, Berry!”

 

“HGNN--”

 

Blackberry jolts at the endearment, juggling the pen before it clatters to the ground. He makes no move to reach for it, helpless as his skull flushes a remarkable blue.

 

_“--QUIT CALLING ME THAT!!”_

 

He turns heel towards the door, grabbing the cloth of Rus’ shirt as he passes by. “WE’RE LEAVING NOW.”

 

“ok,” Rus chuckles, saluting you as he’s dragged out the door. “until next time, darlin’.”

 

You give him a confused wave, laughing as the next shift’s employee dodges the skeletons’ path. _Absolutely bewildered._

 

The frazzled employee looks between you and the skeletons, then laughs. “Talk about a skeleton crew, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEST VIRGINIAAAA MOUNTAIN MAMMA


	5. Bonefire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humans and smoke don't mix too well.

Stretch flicks the TV cursor between two science documentaries, indecisive. 

  
  
The first option, a crime docuseries, presents the feet of a cadaver on the thumbnail. Cold, wrinkly, and unnaturally blue. For a moment, his scrolling halts, and the series begins to play on its own.

  
  
Loud, foreboding music rings from the TV speakers. A grainy camera pans over a quiet, lakeside town. Seconds later, a smiling, young woman appears on-screen. Only then, does the narrator speak.

 

“...”

 

Stretch gives a long, languid sigh; he’s seen this episode before.

 

Pressing the back button, he returns to where he was beforehand: stuck between two options. He sinks into the couch cushions, legs slung over the armrest as he clicks option number two.

 

Admittedly, it wasn’t the thumbnail that caught his attention this time. Rather, it was the title of the series:  _ Chasing Monsters _ . An “adrenaline-packed” series, according to the description he glossed over.

 

He clicks the start button, and the dreaded orchestral music begins. A Florida Man sets sail for dangerous waters, minus the protective gear and plus the unwavering courage (or is it stupidity?).

 

From the ground, he snags a crumb-laden blanket and tosses it over himself. He groans into the fabric, cozy at long last, as his thoughts wander from the fish-savvy man to more pressing matters...

 

Is it  _ too soon _ to start sending memes to you?

 

Like, would you freak if he ice-breaked with a  _ Big Chungus _ or an okay sign?

 

“...”

 

He’s not moving too fast,  _ is he? _

 

He shimmies the phone from his front pocket and it opens to a blank texting interface. The blinking cursor taunts him. How disappointing.

 

Filled with shame, he scrolls through his gallery for the tamest meme he can find, laughing quietly at a few of the more scandalous ones from Red along the way.

 

Just as he finds the one he’s looking for, an alarm sounds from the kitchen. Loud and indisputable.

 

_ Duty calls. _

 

He rolls off the couch with a grunt, tossing the blanket and pocketing his cellphone. Maybe next time,  _ neighborooney _ . Right now, he had a kitchen to save.

 

“hey sans,” Stretch calls into the curling plumes of smoke. “bro, buddy, pal. you alright in there?”

 

“JUST PEACHY!”

 

“alrighty, just checking in.”  _ Liar _ . Stretch makes a beeline towards the kitchen, stepping tentatively as he navigates through the blackness. His hands fly out in front of him, feeling up any wall or piece of furniture he comes across. A few bumps and grazes later, he finds the source of the flames: a small cooking pan.

 

He should’ve known.

 

Leaning against the wall, he watches the silhouette of his brother, flailing limbs and all. The flames give his form an almost towering appearance, like a rampaging kitchen mongrel. He mentally stores the visual for another day, chuckling to himself. 

 

A moment passes and Stretch begins to speak.

 

“look, i don’t know about your definition of  _ peachy _ , but this--”

 

“I KNOW, I KNOW,” Blueberry groans, peeling off his oven mitts in defeat. “YOU DON’T NEED TO TELL ME ANYTHING.

 

“--this ain’t it chief.”

 

Blueberry gives him a look. “UGH, YOU AND YOUR WEIRD COLLOQUIALISMS.” He crosses the kitchen with purposeful steps, heading for the pantry. Unlike Stretch, he memorized the layout of the kitchen long ago and could navigate it blindly with ease. “I SWEAR, YOU SAY THE DARNDEST THINGS NOWADAYS. WHAT DID YOU CALL THAT DOG THE OTHER DAY? THE ONE THAT RED LIKES TO FEED?”

 

_ “an absolute unit,” _ he says without hesitation. “i called that good boy an absolute unit.”

 

“ _ WHAT THE--”  _ Blueberry sputters a bit, repeating the words quietly to himself-- “WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN, PAPYRUS?”

 

Stretch shrugs. “it means the dog was big ‘n cute, that’s all.”

 

“THEN WHY COULDN’T YOU HAVE JUST SAID THAT INSTEAD?”

 

“it’s no fun that way,” Stretch insists, toying with the phone in his pocket. “language is a versatile tool full of linguistic possibilities--” he gives Blueberry a charismatic wink-- “so why the heck should i limit myself?”

 

Blueberry opens his mouth to argue, but relents. “...I THINK THAT’S THE MOST PROFOUND THING YOU’VE SAID IN A WHILE.”

 

“i know, right? i read it off the internet while you weren’t looking.”

 

Blueberry yanks the fire extinguisher from the bottom pantry, scowling. “I KNEW IT!”

 

“heh, got ‘em,” Stretch mutters, partially hoping his brother had heard him. He relaxes against the wall, watching Blueberry pull the pin on the extinguisher. “tell the fire if it don’t pay rent, it’s gotta go.”

 

Blueberry snickers. “WITH PLEASURE.” He aims the nozzle towards the bottom of the flames, finger resting on the trigger.

 

Just before he fires, however, a loud set of knocks come from the front door.

 

_ Great. Just great. _

 

Stretch drops his chin to his chest, cursing, “ah crap, you think it’s sans?”

 

“OF COURSE NOT,” Blueberry says, more to himself than his brother. His actions betray his confidence, however, as he peers towards the front door. “B-BUT JUST IN CASE IT IS, KEEP HIM OUTSIDE. I’LL HANDLE THE MESS.”

 

Stretch wordlessly pushes himself off the wall and strolls towards the front. Now further from the blaring fire alarm, he finally hears the brief tune of his cell phone ringing in his pocket.

 

_ *guess everyone wants a piece of me today, eh? _

 

He checks the caller ID and pauses.

 

 ** _Call From: neighborooney_** **_;)_**

 

“...”

 

Impeccable timing.

 

Looking behind him, a cloud of white fills the kitchen with a  _ hiss _ . He figures the smoke would subside eventually and Sans would have his bony coccyx by the time the door cracked open, anyways…

 

_ so to hell with it. _

 

He clears his non-existent throat, accepts the call, and presses the receiver to his skull.

 

“heya, honey--”

 

_ “Stretch! _ God, are you okay? I saw the flames and--” your cries nearly split his skull in half, and he pulls away from the phone.  _ Too loud, honey. _

 

His skull rings for a moment as he recollects himself. “whoa, honey, sweetheart. i’m fine,” he assures you. “ _ stars _ , everything’s fine. blue just burnt something in the kitchen…hey--” He gives the front door a long stare-- “you outside?”

 

Your breathing is heavy, almost as if you had run from your house to his. “Yeah, I brought a fire extinguisher. I didn’t know if you had one and--”

 

He swings the door open with a grin. “heya, honey.”

 

You stagger back as a plume of smoke wafts from the door. Coughing, sweating, you pull the collar of your shirt to your nose. The fire extinguisher clatters to the ground.

 

“ah, shit. my bad.” He guides you away from the house, closing the door behind him. “sorry about all that. i sometimes forget humans do the whole, uh...  _ breathing _ thing.”

 

His hands recede into his front pocket, wriggling.

 

“It’s fine.” You give him a shaky laugh. “I’m just glad that--  _ wait.” _

 

His grin falls. “what? what’s wrong, honey?”

 

“Where’s Blue?”

 

His skull tilts to the side. “inside, why?”

 

“Shit!” You look woefully towards the front door. “He’s still in there?”

 

“yeah, but--”

 

You storm past the taller skeleton, taking in a few deep breaths as you fling the front door open.

 

_ “Blueberry!” _

 

The skeleton fumbles with a broom, startled by your sudden presence, and yelps.

 

“GOODNESS, HUMAN! ARE YOU OKAY?”

 

His soot-covered self approaches you, concern laced across his features. “ARE YOU HURT? DO YOU NEED MY ASSISTANCE?  _ GASP-- _ DO I NEED TO PERFORM CPR? I  _ KNEW _ THOSE CLASSES WOULD PAY OFF--”

 

“Blue,” you interject. “I’m fine.” Your face dusts a light pink. “I actually came here to...uh, save  _ you _ , instead.”

 

The image of him performing CPR on you lingers, and you’re left both curious and flustered.

 

“OH?” His sockets knit with confusion for a moment, then… “OH! OH, MY GOODNESS! YOU THOUGHT I WAS IN TROUBLE? NO, NO, NO, I’M FINE!” Past the soot covering his cheekbones, he flushes a light blue. “...YOU WERE WORRIED ABOUT  _ ME?” _

 

You give him a genuine smile and his ribcage flutters.

 

“Of course, I am.” You give his shoulder a pat. “I’m always worried about you guys.”

 

Stretch lumbers in behind you. “i tried to tell ya, honey. human fires don’t phase us much. i mean, the heat passes  _ right through us,  _ ya know?”

 

“STOP,” Blueberry says, though his grin widens. “THE HUMAN HAS EXPERIENCED ENOUGH TRAUMA FOR TODAY. SPARE HER FROM YOUR INSUFFERABLE JOKES.  _ JUST FOR TODAY.” _

 

You giggle, looking down at your clothes. A light layer of ash has collected on them, the skeletons notice, and they both feel a little less self-conscious.

 

“we look like a bunch of coal miners,” Stretch observes, leaning down to draw a heart on your forehead. “yup, and just as i suspected.  _ cooked to perfection _ .”

 

You make a noise of disbelief, clasping his skull between your hands. His cheekbones have a bit of lax to them as you keep him from moving. Carefully, you trail your thumbs along the rim of his eye sockets, drawing lines away from the center. 

 

He begins to glow a soft, sherbert orange. “uh...y/n?”

 

A few seconds pass, and you pull away with a content hum.

 

“I gave you eyelashes,” you giggle. “Now we’re even.”

 

“huh?” Stretch recoils with a blink. Retrieving his phone, he flips the front camera on himself and laughs. “well, i’ll be damned. nice work, honey.”

 

“Thanks!” You brush the ash from your fingertips, grinning as you make eye contact with Blueberry. “Care for a makeover?” You ask, eagerly wiggling your fingers at him.

 

Lost in thought, Blueberry takes a moment to answer you. Much to his embarrassment.

 

“M-ME? OH NO, I’M FINE,” he finally answers, brushing a burnt piece of taco meat from his shoulder. ”I WAS JUST ABOUT TO WASH UP, ANYWAYS.”

 

He gives you a smile, and you fail to notice the telltale thrum of his soul. The way his eyelights skim over your ash-laden features, the quaking of his hands, the flutter in his ribcage.

 

Oh no.

 

“Ah, okay. Might I suggest starting riiiight--” Your hand skims across his mandible, collecting a particularly hearty piece of burnt taco sludge-- “ _ here? _ ”

 

“...”

 

_ *WELP, THIS IS IT, CHIEF. A NEW RECORD _ . 

 

“...”

 

Stretch gives his brother an amused nudge. “uh...bro? you good?”

 

Blueberry remains still.

 

* _ I’M ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED. _

 

“I’M ABSOLUTELY COOL,” Blueberry exhales, giving your cheek a gentle set of pats. “THANKS FOR THE ASSISTANCE, Y/N.”

 

“Anytime, Blue,” you reply, flicking away the sludge on your fingers. “Though I’ve gotta ask. What the hell happened in here?”

 

You look towards the ceiling, observing the singed interior with a frown.

 

“LIFE. THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED,” Blueberry sighs. “TRIAL, ERROR, DEFEAT. ALL FOR THE SAKE OF THIS TACO AMALGAMATION I SAW ON THE INTERNET.” He scratches the back of his skull. “THOUGH COME TO THINK OF IT, I WOULD’VE BEEN BETTER OFF USING AN ACTUAL RECIPE.”

 

Your attention snaps to Blueberry once more. “...You didn’t use a recipe?”

 

“I FIGURED I COULD GO OFF THE PICTURE,” he says weakly. “BUT CLEARLY THAT WAS MY FIRST MISTAKE.”

 

“that explains it,” Stretch adds with a laugh. “ya know, the sudden influx of taco meat and smoke.”

 

“I KNOW, RIGHT? IT’S USUALLY NOT THIS BAD!”

 

Your eyebrows knit. “The food or the fire?”

 

“BOTH!”

 

“both.”

 

The skeletons speak in unison, and you’re left wondering if this was a common occurrence in their household. If so, you bid Mother Nature a quiet apology. 

 

_ Godspeed. _

 

“Ah...well then,” you start, lips pursed as you look around their house. Your first visit and everything ends up in flames. Sure, it wasn’t your fault, but you can’t help the guilt that festers. “I’m sorry about the house.”

 

Stretch gives you a curious look. “eh, don’t be. it’s not even that bad.”

 

You gesture to the scorched kitchen walls. “You sure about that?”

 

“i’m positive, honey,” he insists, drawing you and Blueberry to his sides. “this ain’t our first rodeo.”

 

“UNFORTUNATELY, HE’S RIGHT,” Blueberry adds with a chuckle. “YOU SEE THAT PANTRY OVER THERE?”

 

He points towards the corner of the kitchen and you nod.

“WE KEEP A SUPPLY OF FIRE EXTINGUISHERS IN THERE--”

 

“powder, carbon dioxide, wet chemical, you name it.”

 

“--AND NOT TO MENTION THE BROOMS AND THE MOPS AND THE DISINFECTANTS!”

 

“gotta have those disinfectants, ya know,” Stretch says with a nod. “keeps ya from spreading that bad juju.”

 

“Can’t argue with that,” you say, hugging the skeletons closer. “ _ But still.. _ .I’d be happy to help y’all clean up.”

 

“OH NO, THAT’S QUITE ALRIGHT! WE’LL BE FINE,” Blueberry says. “AND BESIDES, I CAN ALREADY TELL THE SMOKE EXPOSURE MIGHT BE A BIT MUCH FOR YOU.”

 

You cock your head to the side. “Really? How so?”

 

Blueberry hesitates. “YOUR VOICE SOUNDS A BIT RASPY.”

 

You frown, hand grazing your neck. “Oh, it does?”

 

“not just that.” Stretch makes a gesture with his finger, stroking beneath his nasal cavity. “yer leaking, honey.”

 

Huh?

 

Curiously, your fingers graze the clear mucous collecting just above your lips. 

 

“...”

 

Oh.

 

**_O H !_ **

 

“Shit,” you squeak, fervently wiping at your nose. “Why didn’t you tell me any sooner?!”

 

_ God, its like a water faucet. _ You pull the collar of your shirt to your nose, mortified.

 

“you seemed fine, so i just let it be,” Stretch pauses for a moment, his grin fading. “ _ shit _ , you’re not actually hurt, are you?”

 

“No, I’m fine,” you insist, voice watery. The only thing that hurts at this point is your pride. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m just gonna... go.” Your heart hammers against your chest as you make a dash for the exit, flushing an awful beet-red.

 

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid! You absolute idiot! Who let you have a nose?! _

 

The skeletons exchange peculiar glances as they watch your retreating form.

 

“...”

 

“YOU HAD TO BREAK IT TO HER, DIDN’T YOU?”

 

“what? she had to know at some point,” Stretch says. “it wasn’t even a big deal or anything.”

 

“ _ STARS--”  _ Blueberry shakes his head with an exasperated sigh-- “ _ JUST GO. _ GO TO GRILLBY’S OR SOMETHING. I’VE GOT A KITCHEN TO SCRUB.”

 

“yes, mom.” Without hesitation, he dials up his drinking buddy.

 

“yo,  _ count chocula _ . i’m starving,” Stretch says into the receiver. “you down for grillby’s?”

 

An empty shot glass clinks against the hardwood. “trust me, asshole.  _ i’m way ahead of ya _ .”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do y'all like Forensic Files or is it not the cool and hip thing to watch anymore??
> 
> *btw my tumblr is undertaleimaginationland*
> 
> ... ;)


	6. Flipped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You make a mean pancake, chief.

You slide with socked-feet across the kitchen floor, spatula held near your lips as you belt out the rap sequence.

  
  
_"Laughin' gas these hazmats, fast cats_

  
  
_Linin' 'em up like ass cracks_

  
  
_Play these ponies at the track_

  
  
_It's my chocolate attack"_

  
  
You pelvic thrust towards the fridge, body attuned to the beat. A raucous fuck-the-world anthem that kick starts your morning.

  
  
_"Shit, I'm steppin' in the heart of this here_

  
  
_Care Bear rappin' in harder this year_

  
  
_Watch me as I gravitate, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"_

  
  
A cackle rips through the air--your own imitation-- as you open the fridge. And much to your surprise, it's relatively full. No empty milk cartons or rancid leftovers whatsoever.

  
  
It's a miracle!

  
  
With deft fingers, you yank the syrup from its place between the condiments. A fresh bottle that doesn't stick to your hands. You smile and shimmy at the convenience of it all.

  
  
Tip-toe, tip-toe. Every step is punctuated by the words _"feel good"_ as you prowl towards the stove. So alluring. The scent of sizzling pancakes beckons you closer.

  
  
Looking down, you watch the flat treat with scrutiny. It fills the entirety of the pan, imperfectly round and edges slightly burnt from overbaking. You're no Gordon Ramsay, but…

  
  
"Finally, some good fucking food," you claim with gusto.

  
  
Tucking the spatula beneath the pancake, you carefully transfer it onto a paper plate. The scent wafts your way, and you inhale. _Jesus Christ on a bike,_ that's some good shit right there. The scent charms your taste buds further as you layer on the syrup.

  
  
Ho boy.

  
  
You turn the stove off with one hand and carry your plate with the other--a multitasking skill you've acquired from years of preparing subpar meals at the local diner. Weaving through patrons, dodging the moist hands of lecherous men. All for the sake of one order of pancakes.

  
  
The singer reaches the chorus, a crooning whisper, and you smile.

  
  
_Only this time, this one's for you._

  
  
Though there's a foldable table in the kitchen, old habits die hard. You make your way towards the sofa with swaying footsteps, trading the spatula for your phone as you pass by.

  
  
“Fuck yeah,” you sigh, placing the plate beside your spot on the sofa. “You’re all mine.”

  
  
Rather perversely, you lick a path towards the fork, uncovering the poor utensil you buried beneath the pancake. So sweet. Your hunger ignites with one taste.

  
  
Plucking the clean-ish fork handle free from its sugary prison, you prepare yourself for the first bite. Oh stars--you haven’t had real food in ages!

  
  
Lips just inches from the fork, you groan as your phone rings, momentarily pausing the music.

  
  
“It's okay,” you tell yourself. “I’ll answer it later.”

  
  
Your words defy you, however, as you examine the caller ID.

  
  
**_Call From: THE GREAT PAPYRUS_ **

  
  
“Noooo,” you whine, lowering the fork. You can’t ignore him of all people!

  
  
Reluctantly, you clean up a bit, tasting the syrup around your mouth as you press the answer button.

  
  
“Hello?”

  
  
"Y/N, IS THAT YOU?" He asks, music blaring on the other end. "I'M SORRY, GIVE ME ONE MOMENT--" there's a pause, then--"SANS…SANS! CEASE THAT MUSICAL RACKET THIS INSTANT! I'M ON THE PHONE."

  
  
Is that a trombone…?

  
  
You wait patiently, taking this moment to indulge in your first bite.

  
  
"…"

  
  
Oh my God, it's phenomenal.

  
  
"YOU BONEHEAD! I SAID CEASE… _CEASE!"_

  
  
Crisp edges, soft center, you thank your lucky stars for this moment.

  
  
"Y/N, ARE YOU STILL THERE?"

  
  
"I am," you say dreamily, lunging for another bite. "What's up, Paps? Or wait, can I call you that?"

  
  
A beat of silence follows.

  
  
"…I WOULD BE HONORED," he replies with a wheeze. Barely contained excitement. "B-BUT WHAT ABOUT YOU?"

  
  
You blink. "What about me?"

  
  
"WHAT SHOULD I CALL YOU?"

  
  
"Oh," you hum. "Good question."

  
  
You reflect for a moment, teeth gnawing on the fork prongs in deep thought. But…to no avail.

  
  
"I have no idea."

  
  
"THAT'S OKAY! WE'LL DISCUSS THIS MATTER LATER," he says, voice wavering a fraction. "I JUST CALLED TO CONFIRM THAT, ERM, _'HOME RENOVATION DATE'_ WITH YOU."

  
  
You stab into the pancake once more, inhaling a greedy mouthful of breakfast. "Yeah, uh, I'm still down," you reply. "Are you?"

  
  
He makes an exasperated sound.

  
  
"PFFT, AM I DOWN TO SPEND QUALITY TIME WITH MY COOL AND FRIENDLY NEIGHBOR? OH NO, _OF COURSE NOT,"_ he bellows. "I MEAN, IT'S NOT LIKE I'VE BEEN STUDYING INTERIOR DECORATING FOR THE PAST 72 HOURS. NOPE, NYEH-HEH, THAT WOULD BE RIDICULOUS."

  
  
Amidst his nervous laughter, you hear something crash to the ground. A resounding clang that spikes your nerves in an instant.

  
  
"Whoa, what was that," you ask, pausing mid-chew.  "Are you okay?"

  
  
"OH, I'M FINE," he insists with a laugh. "JUST, ERM, FUMBLED THE BOWL I WAS USING."

  
  
You snicker despite yourself. "Wait… _was?"_

  
  
"YES, _WAS._ IT APPEARS THE FLOOR ENJOYS MY CULINARY EXPERTISE AS WELL," he sighs. "I'M SORRY, THAT COMMENT I MADE EARLIER WAS MERELY IN JEST. I ACTUALLY CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU AGAIN."

  
  
There's a soft flutter in your chest. _Your heart._

  
  
"Oh no, you're fine," you titter, color rising to your face. "I can't wait to, uh…see you again, too!"

  
  
You slap yourself, silently cursing the tremor in your voice. That nervous tick you got from becoming too--ugh… _self-aware._  
  
He doesn't seem to notice, however.

  
  
"T-THAT'S…WOWIE! I'M GLAD TO HEAR YOU'RE JUST AS EXCITED AS I AM," he beams. "WHAT TIME SHOULD I COME OVER TODAY?"

  
  
You blink owlishly. "Oh, you wanna meet today today."

  
  
Looking around the living room, you're filled with slight guilt. You'd have to clean up at some point.

  
  
" _TODAY TODAY_ WOULD BE LOVELY" he muses. "THOUGH A SIMPLE TODAY WOULD SUFFICE, TOO."

  
  
"Ha, yeah." You look down at your now empty plate. Nothing but runoff syrup remains. "Today it is, then. Just give me an hour-ish to clean up a bit. I haven't even been here for a week and everything's just so…messy."

  
  
He NYEH-HEH's proudly.

  
  
"A CLEAN HOME IS A HAPPY HOME: THAT'S WHAT I ALWAYS SAY." A pause. "ACTUALLY, NO. I SAY DIFFERENT THINGS, TOO. LIKE 'NYEH' AND 'SANS, GET YOUR LAZYBONES OFF THE KITCHEN COUNTER!'."

  
  
You hear a distant chuckle and can't help but laugh as well.

  
  
"That doof…how is he, anyways?"

  
  
You get up from your spot on the sofa, phone pressed between your cheek and shoulder as you carry the plate to the trash can.

  
  
"OH, SANS IS FINE. HE'S JUST BEEN EXPLORING THE WONDERS OF HUMAN POP CULTURE," he replies. "HE'S GOING IN ORDER, I THINK, BUT I'M PRETTY SURE HE'S BEEN CONSUMED BY THE EIGHTIES--" he shuffles around--"I DON'T BLAME HIM, EITHER. THE MUSIC THEN WAS SIMPLY PHENOMENAL! SUCH _LIT BOPS_ , AS THE KIDS SAY."

  
  
"Oh God." You nearly fall over yourself, exasperated by such a heinous use of slang. "Is _lit_ even a thing anymore?"

  
  
The plate skitters down the trash can.

  
  
"I HAVE NO IDEA," he admits. "MAYBE SANS WOULD KNOW…SANS? _SANS!_ MAY I PLEASE PUT YOU ON THE PHONE FOR A MOMENT?"

  
  
A pause.

  
  
"WHAT? NO, I'M NOT ADDING YOU IN A THREE WAY CALL. JUST COME OVER HERE AND USE MY PHONE."

  
  
Another pause.

  
  
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M TOO FAR AWAY? I'M STANDING FOUR FEET AWAY FROM YOU!"

  
  
"…"

  
  
"OH, FOUR-FEET-TOO-FAR, MY COCCYX! YOU JUST-- _NYEH,_ GET OVER HERE, YOU OSSIFIED SLOTH."

  
  
Something heavy stumbles in the background. Off the counter, presumably.

  
  
"alright, alright. hand it over, babybones," Sans relents with a long, languid sigh. There's a bit of fumbling before he finally answers back. "you're up early."

  
  
"Dude, it's ten in the morning."

  
  
"like i said… _early."_

  
  
You make your way towards the sink, looking out the window just above it. Perhaps, across the street, he was doing the same. "How's the hand?"

  
  
He hums deeply, and you can't help but revel in the sound. So smooth… _like peanut butter!_

  
  
"eh, it's still attached. i'll live," he pauses. "unfortunately."

  
  
"Pfft, drama queen," you muse, rinsing your sticky hands beneath the running faucet. "Hey."

  
  
"what?"

  
  
"Do people say lit anymore?"

  
  
There's a halt in the conversation.

  
  
"…"

  
  
"…"

  
  
"…i'm hanging up now."

  
  
You make a panicked sound. "Wait, no--"

  
  
Sans ends the call, but not before hearing your exasperated laughter. Light, jovial, and oh-so close to his skull.

  
  
Almost rivaling the pleasant sound of chimes above the door to his favorite bar.

 

He groans.

  
  
For a moment, he remains dissociative, looking beyond the confines of his home. Out the window and across the street.

  
  
Like the flash of a camera, the high beams of a car, the sudden backfire in his work-in-progress-time-fuckeroo machine, you've _blindsighted_ him.

  
  
_Big time._

  
  
"…huh."

 

His eye lights drop to the cell phone in his hand. Your contact info, or as Papyrus had dubbed you, **_ENDEARING HUMAN NEIGHBOR._**

 

How fitting.

 

The screen times out soon after and he’s left staring at his own reflection, his grin tightening at the sight.

 

_*don’t look at me like that._

 

He looks up-- away from those dark-ringed sockets-- and spots Papyrus on the couch. This wholehearted skeleton taking notes on the _Home and Gardening Channel._

 

A comical reprieve from his own clusterfuck of a life.

 

He’s drawn to the scene like a moth to a flame.

 

“scoot over,” Sans says, letting himself fall backwards. His spine curves over the armrest, body akin to an inchworm’s as he settles in further. “i’ve got some ideas, too.”

 

The notion brings a joyous smile to Papyrus’ face. “REALLY? OH, THAT’S WONDERFUL TO HEAR, BROTHER! I COULD USE A SECOND OPINION ON MY PLANS FOR THE KITCHEN--” he pauses as Sans returns his phone-- “AH, THANK YOU! THAT’S JUST WHAT I NEEDED.”

 

Skull propped against his brother’s femur, he listens to Papyrus speak. A long-winded recap of his findings, a critical analysis of the color gray, and a lesson in the art of placement. Not to mention the brief show of pinned ideas on his phone.

 

“oh, i like that one,” Sans comments on one post in particular: a framed sign reading _‘Whip it good’,_ followed by (of course) a stenciled-on whisk. “it’ll really _mix things up_ , ya know?”

 

Papyrus lets himself pat the top of Sans’ forehead. “YOU KNOW, I’M NOT EVEN BOTHERED BY YOUR _HALF-BAKED_ PUNS ANYMORE.”

 

Sans gasps. “what an in _feast_ ible tragedy.”

 

“NO.”

 

“ _bake_ in the day, you’d be _steaming_.”

 

“STOP IT.”

 

“but _fork_ it, now’s the _thyme_ to be alive.”

 

With an unceremonious _yeet_ , Papyrus rolls the skeleton off him. “WE’RE DONE HERE.”

 

Sans makes an unflattering noise, now splayed across the floor. “don’t you mean _well-done_ here?”

 

Papyrus steps over him-- a federal offense--and yelps as Sans latches onto his leg.

 

“ _NYEH--_ LET GO OF ME!!”

 

Long-limbed, he stumbles through the living room, attempting to free himself in vain.

 

“YOU LAZYBONES, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? I’M GOING TO BE LATE BECAUSE OF YOU!”

 

His grip tightens. “then get a move on.”

 

Papyrus freezes, balancing on one leg. “WHAT, EXACTLY, ARE YOU PLANNING ON DOING RIGHT NOW?”

 

Sans shrugs. “well, i thought it was obvious--”

 

“SANS, DON’T YOU DARE.”

 

“--i’m coming with you.”

 

Papyrus makes a dramatic show of disapproval, screaming while pressing both hands against his temples. Despite his actions, however, he heads for the door, toting his brother like a leg weight.

 

“OH, WHAT A TRAVESTY,” he laments, staggering towards the street. “THE GREAT PAPYRUS, A FULL-FLEDGED ADULT--” reaching the mailbox, he leans against it for a moment of balance--”IS HAVING HIS DATE CRASHED BY HIS OLDER BROTHER!”

 

A few strides more and he’s halfway across the street.

 

“i’m not crashing your date,” Sans replies. “i’m _supervising_ it.”

 

_*THE AUDACITY._

 

Papyrus stomps in retaliation, essentially whiplashing his brother. “YOU’RE BEING A NUISANCE, THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE DOING,” he retorts. “AND LAST TIME I CHECKED, I WASN’T A PART OF YOUR SELF-INSTILLED HUMAN BAN LIST.”

 

His heavy clodhoppers tap against the sidewalk, up the driveway and towards your front door. Now closer, he could hear music playing from the inside.

 

His fist hovers over the door. _Hesitant._

 

“uh...bro, you okay?”

 

_Deep breath in. And..._

 

Papyrus exhales, recollecting himself.

 

“...I JUST WISH YOU’D HAVE A LITTLE MORE FAITH IN ME,” he says. “IN ALL OF US.”

 

No response. Only a blank stare.

 

Of course.

 

Papyrus gives the door a hardy knock, a stark contrast to the awkward silence that befalls the two brothers. Sans takes this moment to stand up and reflect.

 

 _*...well shit_.

 

A minute passes and the door opens.

 

“Paps, Sans, hey!” you greet with zeal, stepping aside. “Please, come in.”

 

Blissfully unaware of the tension, you lead them towards the living room. “You guys hungry?”

 

Papyrus holds a hand up. “I’M FINE. I HAD ONE OF THOSE MEAL SHAKES THIS MORNING.”

 

But _oh_ , he was hungry. As much as he hates to admit it, those shakes were a sham. Or at the very least, they did nothing for a monster’s appetite.

 

It didn’t help that he dropped his oatmeal either. _Those poor dino eggs._

 

Nonetheless, he holds his metaphorical tongue and smiles.

 

“Oh, okay. What about you, Sans?”

 

“m’fine, nurse,” he says, making himself comfortable on the sofa. “i had one of those pocket burritos.”

 

Unevenly warmed, dry crust, mushy filling. They were mediocre at best, but hell, they did the job.

 

“Pocket burritos,” you parrot, trying to piece together his words.

 

“off-brand _hot pockets_ ,” he elaborates. “y’know, those bread crusts with the ham and cheese in ‘em.”

 

You give him a crooked smile, like you’ve been there before. “I never pinned you as the _Hot Pocket_ type.”

 

“OH PLEASE, THE FRIDGE IS FILLED WITH THOSE STUPID MICROWAVABLE DISASTERS,” Papyrus interjects with a frown. “THEY STINK UP THE PLACE--AND UGH, DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THOSE WRETCHED _BAGEL BITES.”_

 

“ _Bagel Bites_...now that I can see.”

 

Sans leans against the armrest, intrigued. “what are you, a palm reader for junk food?”

 

“Nah, I’m just experienced in the topic,” you say. “Though wouldn’t that be something?”

 

“stars--you’re an odd human.” Sans goes limp in his seat, observing you. That tired, unsure smile.

 

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you step towards the kitchen. “I have extra pancake batter,” you admit. “And, uh, I don't wanna waste it.”

 

You don’t know why, but something beckons you to keep talking.

 

Both skeletons watch you with rapt interest.

 

“So I was just wondering...” you trail off. “God, you know what? Fuck it, I’m making more pancakes! Y’all don’t have a choice.”

 

“wait, what?”

 

_“YES, THANK FUCKING GOD!”_

 

Papyrus has his hands thrown in the air, both curled at the fist in victory.

 

“...”

 

“...”

 

“...DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD?”

 

Sans’ jaw hangs agape, floored for a moment, before letting out a breathy chuckle.

 

“yeah buddy, ya kinda did.”

 

Papyrus looks between you and his brother, then towards the ground. A mortified pink burns his cheekbones. “I, ERM...PANCAKES SOUND WONDERFUL RIGHT NOW.”

 

And that’s all you needed, much to his relief, as you storm towards the kitchen with purposeful strides. Like a grandmother who just got wind of her hungry grandchildren.

 

Watching your outline from the living room, his abashment begins to fade, emotions now consumed by something deeper. Something he’s been preaching since day one.

 

His expression turns downright cocky as he makes eye contact with Sans.

 

“SEE? LIKE I SAID, HAVE A LITTLE MORE FAITH.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song MC vibes to is Feel Good Inc. by Gorillaz because why the fuck not ;D?

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! I think I've got it this time. Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter !!!


End file.
